Move Along
by Val-Creative
Summary: "Ever since you pulled me outta Hell, you've been following me around and— for all I know— spying on me. You've had time to figure me out." /Pre-slash. 4x17-tag, It's A Terrible Life. Destiel. Standalone.


—†—

Few statements were considered infallible in Dean's life—

(_1_) Even though it didn't feel like it half the time, the job ended up doing more good than harm — excluding his personal life.

(_2_) Classic rock and pie were clearly the superior choices.

(_3_) Nobody messed with his baby or Sammy and got away with it for long, if he could help it.

… …(_4_) He was not massively tripping out right now.

On the rare occasion, either in the motel while Sam stepped out to get ice or held up in the Impala running on a few hours of precious sleep, Dean's nostrils would fill with phantom scents: freshly cut grass and golden brown rolls that lingered on sweet-smelling laundry clothes (_this alternative version of his Mom smiles uncertainly from the ivory lattice window but returns his overly enthused wave as he weaves the front lawn with the mower, grinning big)_, No. 9 gun oil and peppery cologne (_his Dad slaps his back congratulatory at his first ghoul kill_), the diner outside Montana with the huckleberry muffins…

They were all comfort smells, dragged up from his memories; some that no longer existed in the daily routine of his life, from people that no longer were considered living.

And by now, Dean had a fairly solid lead about what this all added up to.

"You can come out from inviso-mode, Cas," he addressed the empty bedroom lit 40watt and highlighted by lights outside the window, eyes scanning, "Figured it out already."

"How so?"

Dean jerked his head towards the corner of the motel room, settling him with a long, barbed look that Castiel did not return.

"You're trying to make me feel better," Dean insisted, approaching him. "Ever since you pulled me outta Hell, you've been following me around and— for all I know— spying on me. You've had time to figure me out." The khaki-colored trenchcoat on the angel's shoulders barely moved an inch since his appearance by the patterned chair. "… …You haven't been watching me in the shower, have you?"

"I don't understand."

Crystal-bright eyes squinted up, honestly confused.

"What does your encounter with Zacharias this evening have to do with the act of washing yourself?" Castiel asked.

Dean made a T-sign with both of his hands.

"Whoaa… you're worried?" He said with semi-awe, "The whole Smith and Wesson thing? Because your asshole boss screwed up with my memories?"

Castiel replied, blandly, "Was I mistaken to assume that you remain unbothered?"

"_Aww_…" Dean snickered — and he's a bit intoxicated and, hell; he felt _all right,_ so sue him — and opened his arms in gleeful and mocking gesture, "C'mere you big softy." The angel stiffened up as Dean's arms loosely squeezed his shoulders with a human and warm snugness. He snickered again loudly at Castiel's reaction. "Don't tell me you guys are allergic to hugs or som'thing." Castiel' arms rose up slowly, hovering doubtfully over the tops of Dean's own shoulders.

A rain-soaked Sam nudged open the battered-looking motel door, hoisting up a gray, plastic bag into view. He observed the pair of them.

"Did I miss something?" A gleam of amusement in Sam's eyes. Dean hurried over, snatching away the bag from drippy fingers.

"This better be pie," he complained, rummaging through it as Sam shook out his hair and locked the door behind him. "It feels like I haven't eaten pie in weeks."

"Guess that's kinda true," Sam pointed out, cracking a smile and peering at their guest. "Cas, do you wanna stay for—?"

A faint rustle. He found himself talking to thin air, and frowned pensively. "Hmm."

"_Hssuuch lawwshh_."

Dean jammed another forkful of blueberry filling into his mouth, shrugging.

—†—

* * *

><p><em>Wanted to make a small dedication to my <strong>Cass<strong> for her birthday. -blows a kiss- Comments and so on are always deeply appreciated. Thanks for reading!  
><em>

_**Supernatural Kink Meme prompt**:_

_"We all know Castiel likes to be invisible and basically creep on Dean. Over time, he's learned Dean's favorite smells, and no it's not beer and strippers, although maybe he trolls of him with those. Things like Tulips or fresh laundry, things that put him at ease, and Cas likes to waft those scents around. He thinks Dean doesn't know, but it's become pretty much an indicator of when he's around. One day, Cas is there and Dean makes it known he knows, fluff follows."_


End file.
